(Image from theultralinx.com, found in Pinterest)
I hated cooking when I was younger. I thought I would always burn eveything I prepared, and got tired just thinking about the process, but my love for food has existed within me since the day I first opened my eyes.
My mom knows how to cook a little, and has mastered a few recipes like arroz salvaje, african roastbeef, her cold pasta salad, but that wasn't her calling. My grandmother couldn't fry an egg, never, barely made a sandwich; forget that image of loving old lady preparing you fresh cookies, that just wasn't her. Her heart lied in books and poems, and that is a love I now have because she past it on to me.
No, my mother's side of the family was never interested in the kitchen. But my daddy is a great cook. Even though his career is arquitecture, he adored to prepare the most exquisite dishes and attended various cooking courses. My childhood was filled with shrimp risottos, fried chicken and quesillos, and it helped me develop a craving for delicious meals.
It became hard in Venezuela, and in my life, to continue with this craving. My parents got divorced when I was young, so I didn't spend a lot of time with my dad, and by the age of 19 I didn't know squat about how to get along with fry pans, knifes or measuring cups.
And then I fell in love. For the first time in my life I wanted to cook for someone, so I taught myself through Pinterest and Youtube. And if you ever read "Como Agua para Chocolate - Like Water for Chocolate", I believed that every meal I did for him tasted like gratitude, admiration, and tender care. For his first birthday together, I made him a candelight homemade dinner, a spicy shrimp garlic pasta, with his favorite beer and ended with a no bake chocolate cake (I was so tired aftwerwards, I fell asleep waiting for the 12 am bell). We enjoyed trying new recipes together. He learned how to cook, as well, being with me. His last birthday with me, I surprised him with ceviche, sweet potato chips, mojitos and a chocolate fondue.
(Image from happyolks.com, found in Pinterest)
But my journey was filled with inspiration and learning. My best friends had families where cooking was a big deal and I tried to be as avid a learner as I could. I watched and watched. Cecilia, Arianna's mom, had a thousand recipes inside her head that she could invent in a second. She is the embodiment of a perfect host. Her house is always filled with people and laughter, and even in the hardest times in Venezuela, you could go to Remanso, the Tortolero's home, and find a delicious smell inviting you to their perfect kitchen. Watching Carlos Julio, Arianna's brother, I learned how to do a perfect chinese fried rice. For Thanksgiving, it was in their kitchen that I perfected a venezuelan recipe called "Torta de Jojoto", a cake with corn, sugar and our salty white cheese. I swear it's delicious, and mine is quite tasty, ask my friends if you dont believe me.
The other special family is the Ameijeiras. My fondest memories belong in that kitchen. Lucila, Samuel and Angel's mom, is a dream come true. She is the woman you want to become. She taught me how to appreciate zucchini, and the coolest-most delicious gourmet recipes were created in that space. Leek quiches, pecan pies, blueberry muffins, carrot pasta, you name it. In that house, I tangled myself in the beauty of cooking, in this world of spices, combinations and tools. It is an art, and the Ameijeiras family's taste was of home. You took a bite of anything and you could feel at home.
That is why, with all that knowledge and experience in me, I couldn't bare Venezuela's culinary experience. Our cuisine is magnificent, I love arepas, cachapas, chicha, bollitos, mandocas and many other dishes that remind me of my culture, but our economic, social and political crisis has deep down striken our hunger. We became numb. To afford an apple or canned tuna is a fortune. Our markets are desolated isles, shelves of only one product repeated a hundred times, and sometimes you find a store that brings imported products worth 7 months of a minimun wage salary. All the money I could spend while living there was on food, because there's nothing I despise more than bad food. I am unable to oblige my body into chewing something I know it's bad quality, badly served; I'd rather not eat all. And I know this might sound rich, knowing that they are families in my country that can only afford one meal, but it's the one thing I couldn't give up. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not here implying I can only eat caviar and salmon; but there's loving in food and art in food, and an understanding that food is the nurture from which my body moves and operates. Venezuela made me gave up my freedom, my friends, my sense of safety; but in this subject, I put my foot down.
Besides, cooking teaches much more than a skill. A good recipe requires preparation: having the ingredients, a clear space to work on, and washed out tools. A lot of dishes take patience for them to get the necessary shape. If you won't pay attention to what you're doing, you might probably cut or burn yourself, without mentioning, ruining your plate. You create a mixture between the ability to follow instructions and a touch of your creativity and improvisation.
(Image from andrewzimmern.com, found in Pinterest)
A relationship is based on the balance of giving and receiving. You give energy, time and your ability to the kitchen, and I promise you results. It has given me a place to unwind, when I'm cooking I am not thinking. I am playing some music, dancing through it, just concentrated on this particular moment, in what I'm doing right now. It has given me a sense of pride and achievement everytime a recipe is just what I wanted it to be. It has given me the satisfaction of pleasing and comforting the people I love.
So maybe my life is chaos, maybe I haven't made all my dreams come true, maybe I haven't figured out who am I or what do I want to do, but now my daddy and I have a hobby that unites us. A couple of nights ago, we were in an international call, I was feeling helpless, and he just started talking to me about food. He recommended sweet potato chips with cinnamon and sugar. This made me laugh, and we started talking about different recipes, my mind went far away from my troubles and before I knew it, I was taking the dish from the oven. Then, I watched a movie, tasting a delicious fix up, receiving in it the comfort of my dad, who is cheering for me 7.307 kilometers from here.
Maybe life is a big mess, but in my home, in my apartment, in my kitchen,
I cook so I can smile a bit more, so I can live a bit better, so I can overcome and continue.
And boy, do I still have a lot of learning to do.
Camilú
